


A Sunset Soon Forgotten

by burymeinziam



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Amnesia, Angst, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Memory Loss, im not even sure what else to tag this as
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-18
Updated: 2014-01-18
Packaged: 2018-01-09 04:59:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1141715
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/burymeinziam/pseuds/burymeinziam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>”And when you remember (and I know you will) I hope you find me because I’ll be waiting. / One o’clock, two o’clock, three o’clock, four. /I’d wait forever.”</p>
<p>or that one fic where liam has amnesia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Sunset Soon Forgotten

**Author's Note:**

> i stole the title from iron and wine

Like everything else, it all sort of happens by chance.

Liam is staring down at his phone trying to type the address Harry had sent him the night before into the space labeled “destination” in the GPS, but he can’t remember the building number. He’s mumbling curses under his breath, moving his legs as fast as he can because he’s late enough as it is, and he’s approaching a crosswalk when –

“ _Woah!_ ” There’s a hand wrapped around his wrist, pulling him back just as a car speeds past Liam’s line of vision. “Gotta watch where you’re going, mate.”

Liam turns to his right, meeting the eyes of another boy around his age with honey colored eyes and a beard that looks like it hasn’t been trimmed in at least three days. His hand is still wrapped firmly around Liam’s, his fingers warm and oddly grounding, and he blushes, a nervous smile finding his lips when he realizes it and quickly withdraws his hand, shoving both into the pockets of his jeans.

“Thanks,” Liam says, nodding toward the street which is still buzzing with traffic. “I was just – I’m late and I was trying to type this address into my stupid phone and I wasn’t paying attention—”

The boy shrugs his shoulders, removes a hand from his pocket and waves it off. “No need to explain yourself, mate. We all do it.”

Liam ducks his head, still feeling embarrassed and insanely grateful. “Well, still, Thank you,” he says. “Probably would have gotten run over if it wasn’t for you.”

There’s a flash of a smile and the beautiful sound of a lighthearted laugh that Liam can’t help but want to hear more of. “Probably.”

Liam’s cheeks flush a light shade of pink, his eyes darting away from ones in front of him. When he looks back up, the light across the street has gone green and this boy, the one who’d saved his life, is nodding toward the other side. “You said you were trying to find an address, right?” He asks.

Liam nods, following him across the crosswalk. “Yeah.”

“Well, where are you going? Maybe I can help you out.”

It’s an excuse and Liam knows it. He could easily put the address into his phone and let technology guide his way. They’re both completely aware of this, but this sort-of-stranger is smiling so easily at Liam like he really wants to help and possibly get to know him and Liam thinks he might want the same thing.

“Yeah,” Liam agrees, nodding his head as they stop at the corner on the other side of the street. “I’m Liam, by the way.”

The boy grins offering out a hand for Liam to shake and when Liam takes it, his fingers are still warm.

“Zayn.”

♦♦♦

_The first time I saw you, you didn’t even look up._

_You were moving so fast and then you were almost gone, but I caught you._

_You looked at me and I remember thinking your face was so pretty and your eyes met mine and said “this is the boy who saved me”_

_You were embarrassed, I could tell, and I was still holding your hand. When I let it go you were still there, but it was only a matter of time._

_The light flashed green and we were crossing. I knew you were leaving and it was stupid and presumptuous, but I asked if I could take you._

_You told me your name and this time when my hand found yours I knew it was there to stay._

♦♦♦

Zayn had never considered himself to be much of a writer.

He was just a twenty-three-year-old kid who’d graduated college with a minor in English because he loved reading too much but was too afraid to try and create a career out of it.

He’d admit he had a bit of a way with words, but Zayn had never been one to think he could create poetry; string words together, making them sound so pretty as they flowed off the tongue that they could bring tears to the eyes of the hardest souls.

Zayn had never considered himself to be much of a writer, but some days he’d see Liam crossing a street or smiling at a woman and her baby or purchasing a cup of coffee he’d probably never finish and Zayn would think he’d want to try.

♦♦♦

The address was for a Kinkos and Harry was standing right outside.

“You’re late,” he says. “Lou is kind of pissed, but you don’t really need to worry about him because he’s always pissed. Just apologize and smile and make him think he’s important.”

Liam’s palms are sweating and he’s kind of glad he wasn’t holding Zayn’s hands because he’s pretty sure his fingers would slip right through.

Zayn is standing off to the side, hands back inside of his own pockets as he rocks back on his heels like he isn’t sure of what to do. Harry is rambling a little about how Louis is being a bit of a hard ass because he just made assistant manager, but it shouldn’t be that big of a deal because he doesn’t make the final decisions anyways.

“I mean, he’ll tell the manager what he thinks of you, but that’s about it. Just kiss his ass and you’re golden.”

Liam nods and wipes his sweaty palms over his thighs. He turns to Zayn. “Thanks,” he says. “For, you know, everything.”

Zayn’s smile is shy as he shrugs his shoulders, reaches up to run a nervous hand through his hair. He’s lingering, like he wants to say something more but isn’t sure of the right words or if it’s even worth the risk with Harry standing there and Liam looking like he’s about to shit his pants.

“You should –” Zayn starts, stops, then clears his throat. “You should go do your interview thing before that Louis guy freaks out, yeah?” he says. “I’ll uh… Maybe I’ll see you around or something. I don’t know.”

Liam nods, a sudden heaviness in his chest like he wants to stop Zayn from leaving. Maybe even say fuck it to the interview altogether and see if he wants to catch a movie or go for a walk or wait for the sun to set and the city to fall asleep so they can lie out in the middle of the road and stare at the stars.

Liam doesn’t want him to leave, but he’s too afraid to ask Zayn to stay so he says

“Yeah. Maybe.”

And leaves it at that.

♦♦♦

_I left you that day even though I wanted to stay._

_It’s funny how we do things like that, speak words that mean nothing and hope people catch the unspoken ones that mean everything._

_I left you that day even though I wanted to stay and talk with you forever, look at you until my eyes grew tired and I could no longer bear to keep them open for another second._

_And even then I wanted to dream of you, feel the phantom presence of your hand against mine, and listen to the tiny sample of your laugh._

_I left you that day and as soon as I turned the corner, I knew I wanted nothing more than to see you again._

_So I did._

♦♦♦

Zayn sees Liam in sparks and snippets, short snapshots of time that flash like lightning before his eyes before disappearing, echoing in his mind like thunder.

He sees Liam in the soft wool blankets covering the couch in the living room, the ones they’d picked up from Bed Bath and Beyond with the gift card Liam’s parents had given them when he’d moved into Zayn’s apartment. They’re thick and tan and Zayn can still remember the way Liam would wrap himself up in them on the couch and watch Saturday morning cartoons while trying not to spill the milk in his cereal bowl.

Zayn sees Liam in the bathroom where his toothbrush is still sitting in the batman cup he’d brought from his parent’s house waiting to be used again. He sees Liam shaving, face covered in white foam as he turns his head to smile at Zayn; reaching out to brush his fingers over scruff that Zayn knows is beginning to get a little unruly.

“You could use a shave too, caveman,” Liam would tell him.

And Zayn would smile, nuzzle into Liam’s open palm before turning his head to kiss skin that smelled faintly of shaving cream. “Maybe.”

Zayn sees Liam in the kitchen burning cookies and in the hallways straightening frames of pictures of family and friends. Liam is in the bedroom, Zayn can feel him tangled in the sheets, smells Liam on his pillows. At night, when Zayn’s mind is hazy and the world feels as though it’s slipping through his fingers, Liam’s lips are still brushing against his skin. There are still hands claiming his hips and the soft whisper of a voice in his ear ( _oh, god, I love you_ ) as a warm heat fills Zayn from the inside out.

Liam is everywhere and nowhere at all, but he’s also out there because Zayn sees him – both literally and figuratively – every day.

It’s only a matter of time before memories fade and Zayn is left with sharp flashes of lightening and the soft echoes of thunder and then, possibly, maybe, eventually, like Liam, nothing at all.

 So, there’s a pen and a couple of sheets of paper – Zayn knows he’ll need more – and a chair and a desk. He sits down and stares at blank lines, isn’t sure where to start. Zayn isn’t much of a writer, but he decides to try.

♦♦♦

Zayn can’t help but to smile when he walks into Kinkos a week later and spots Liam in the cheap, black polyester uniform, a nametag pinned to his chest. He’s holding a Lost Dog flyer he’d found taped to a street lamp near his house and suddenly the idea of asking about copies seems stupid because Zayn doesn’t even have a dog. He mostly just needed an excuse and this was the first one he’d been able to come up with.

He’s about to leave when Liam looks up and spots him, his eyes filling with a slow recognition and he’s smiling and calling out Zayn’s name.

“Zayn.”

It sounds almost musical to Zayn’s ears, like somehow his name was meant to fall from Liam’s lips.

Zayn waves, crosses the room to where Liam is standing behind a copy machine. “Hey.”

“You stopped by.”

Zayn nods. “Yeah, um… I – I had these. “He holds up the Lost Dog flyer. “This.”

Liam frowns, taking the flyer from Zayn’s hand so he can read it over. “You lost your dog?”

“Yeah,” Zayn answers, then stops himself. “Well, no… someone did. I – it was… I figured I’d make more and, you know, hang up or something.”

“So… this isn’t your dog?”

Zayn can feel his face heating up and the whole situation feels stupid and pointless because Zayn is doing nothing more than making a total ass out of himself. Liam is looking at him, waiting for an answer, and Zayn thinks it probably wouldn’t have been so hard to just walk in and say hello. Maybe tell Liam the truth and admit that Zayn really just wanted to see him again; that Liam had been practically the only thing on his mind since they’d met and he just had to see him again.

Zayn shakes his head. “No.”

“But you’re making copies of the flyer so you can hang them around town anyways.”

Zayn shrugs his shoulders. “Yeah. Sort of.”

Liam tilts his head to the side, a small smile on his lips as he drops the hand holding the flyer to his side. “That’s sweet.”

Zayn looks up, a little confused by the reaction. “Huh?”

“I don’t know,” Liam says. “I just… it’s nice, you know? Like you’re helping these people and you don’t even know them.”

Zayn finds himself laughing a little because he’d never even thought about it that way. “I guess so,” he says. “I never – I didn’t think about it that way, really.” He draws in a deep breath before looking up to meet Liam’s eyes. “I kinda just wanted to see you again.”

Liam blushes, says something about getting the copies done. “How many do you need?” he asks.

“Oh, I don’t know… twenty maybe?”

Liam starts up the machine, places the flyer on top of the glass and closes the top. While the machine whizzes and whirs, the pair of them stand in a silence filled with words that neither of them are quite bold enough to say. Liam wants to tell Zayn how happy he is that he stopped by, that he was beginning to think that Zayn had forgotten all about him and how stupid he felt being hung up on a boy he’d known for all of maybe twenty minutes. He wants to tell Zayn that he’d sort of missed the way their hands fit together and that strange sense of calm he felt whenever Zayn so much as looked at him. He liked how warm Zayn felt and the way his voice sounded kind of like honey, silky and smooth, as though every word he spoke were gliding from his tongue.

Zayn wants to tell Liam that he isn’t sure of what it means, but he feels like Liam is something big. Like they’re something big and that Zayn spotting Liam and pulling him back from that car was more than just a good deed or an act of kindness. Perhaps it was luck or maybe fate, but it happened and Zayn thinks it matters. He feels as though even though he didn’t really know Liam – and still sort of doesn’t – that he would miss him. If Liam were to disappear Zayn would feel as though he’d lost something profound and important and he really just needed to see him again.

The air between them is filled with so many things unsaid and all they can hear is the steady hum of the copier.

But somehow they both know. Without saying a word, they both know.

When the copies are finished, Liam fishes them out of the tray of the machine and hands them over to Zayn. Their fingers brush not-so-unintentionally and Zayn smiles as he tucks the pages under his arm.

“I um… what time are you off?” He asks.

Liam glances toward the clock. “Four.”

When Zayn follows Liam’s eyes to the clock he sees it’s a five after three. “Would you… you could help me later? Hang up the flyers or something? If you want to.”

Liam looks down and straightens his nametag just to give his hands something to do. “Yeah,” he says. “Okay.”

“Great,” Zayn says. “Yeah, um, there’s that coffee shop down the street? I’ll be there, I guess.”

Liam nods. “Coffee shop.”

Zayn’s backing up toward the front of the store, eyes never leaving Liam. “Coffee shop. Four o’clock,” he says with a smile as he nearly backs up into the doors leading back out to the outside.

Liam can’t help the spurt of laughter as Zayn stumbles a bit to catch his balance as he avoids backing into the exit. “I’ll see you there,” he says, his voice fond.

Zayn’s smile is as warm as Liam remembers his hands being. “I’ll see you there.”

♦♦♦

_It’s funny how nervous we were in the beginning._

_I remember how sweaty my palms used to get and the way my heart felt as though it was going to tear straight through my chest._

_I remember the way your own hands shook as you tried to work the copy machine; like you were trying to impress me with you knowledge of modern technology._

_If I didn’t love the sound of your voice so much I probably wouldn’t have remembered a word you said._

_One o’clock, two o’clock, three o’clock, four._

_You could have gotten off at any time, really._

_I would have waited forever._

♦♦♦

Liam’s mother still loves him and, for that, Zayn is grateful.

It would have been so easy to place blame, to call Zayn irresponsible or cruel. She could have blamed Zayn for it all and said he should have been more understanding, should have been the bigger person instead of holding onto his anger like an insolent child and letting Liam slam the door to his car before driving off.

Zayn blames himself enough as it is, really. Most days he shoves the what-ifs to the back of his mind and tries to focus on other things like work and getting his teaching degree. He spends nights with Niall at the pub drinking and throwing darts and offering a good luck nod whenever Niall meets a cute girl at the bar. Zayn takes to drawing again, but sticks to still life and avoids anything with a face.

It’s not as though avoiding things matters though because Liam is still everywhere he goes. He’s in the air and the water, imbedded in Zayn’s fucking skin.

It’s not as though avoiding things matters though because Liam is still everywhere he goes. He’s in the air and the water, imbedded in Zayn’s fucking skin. It’s good and it’s bad because while Zayn never wants to forget – because what a time it was to be young and in love – sometimes it just hurts too much to remember. Zayn can think of countless alternate endings where Liam isn’t covered in blood and bruises. There are so many things Zayn could have said or done that would have him living a life so different from the one he’s currently experiencing.

Liam’s mother says it’s pointless. Things are what they are and we’ve got to make the best of it.

“Nothing you can say or do, love,” is what she tells him over the phone. Her voice is sad and sometimes Zayn isn’t sure if it’s for him or for Liam. He likes to think it’s a little bit of both. “All you can do is play the hand you’ve been dealt.”

Zayn knows she’s right. He knows things could have been worse. That he could have pillows and blankets and a toothbrush sitting in a stupid batman cup on the sink and that’s all that would be left of Liam instead of a living, breathing boy who is happy and smiling and so very content.

And in the end, that’s all Zayn had ever really wanted for him.

Zayn just wishes. He sits on the couch wrapped up in a tan blanket that will forever smell like Liam and wishes that when Liam’s eyes passed over him on the street he saw more than just a boy. He wishes that when Liam’s eyes passed him over that he saw, _Zayn_ ; that Liam remembered his name.  

♦♦♦

It’s almost like one of those romantic comedies that Zayn finds himself watching in his bedroom at three in the morning while he’s chasing sleep.

Liam is charming and polite and funny and he likes to hold Zayn’s hand and introduce him to his friends. He sends Zayn quirky text messages about the different people that come into his job and about how Louis likes to think he’s king of the world because he made assistant manager at Kinko’s.

( **From Liam:** _Louis just told me I had to ask him before taking ink cartridges from the supply closet because he’s the only one allowed to input into the log book. -_-_

or

**From Liam:** _This lady just brought in a few photos of her husband in a sexy nurse costume and asked for thirty copies xD harry and I are dyinngggg.)_

Liam likes cliché things like midnight walks through the city and ducking into thrift shops and taking long drives with no real destination. He does things that are totally and completely Liam that make Zayn’s heart swell; things like the way he’ll tilt his head to the side and look at Zayn like he can’t believe that he’s really there and that he’s his.

Zayn is twenty-three, but Liam makes him feel like he’s sixteen again. He finds himself drawing hearts on his napkins and related every song on the radio – no matter how far the stretch – to the way he feels about this boy he met at a crosswalk.

A boy with chocolate brown eyes and a smile Zayn thinks could light up the whole fucking city.

“I made you a mixtape,” Zayn says one day around a bite of a grilled cheese sandwich. They’re sitting at the counter in Liam’s mother’s kitchen for lunch, a game show – Jeopardy!, Zayn thinks it is – playing on the television in the living room a few yards away.

“Who is, Sir Isaac Newton?” Liam answers, eyes trained on the screen, before turning his attention to Zayn. “A mixtape?”

Zayn nods. “Yeah.”

Liam smirks, tearing a piece of crust from his sandwich and popping it into his mouth. “What are we, in middle school?”

His voice is light and teasing and while he’s acting like the idea of Zayn making him a mixtape is completely ridiculous, Zayn knows Liam is kind of excited and maybe – hopefully – a little bit in love.

Because even though it’s only been about six weeks, Zayn’s beginning to think that he is.

“Middle school or not,” Zayn says with a grin and a shrug of his shoulders. “I made you a mixtape.”

Liam wipes his hands off on the napkin sitting next to his plate before tossing it on top of his sandwich. “Well, what’s on it?”

He’s not even trying to hide his interest now. Zayn’s knows it’s more curiosity at the moment than it is interest in the actual songs, but he likes the way Liam’s eyes are lighting up with all the different possibilities and sounds; knows if the tape is filled with songs he actually knows instead of the obscure music Zayn finds while he’s browsing the web or sorting through old records at the only CD store left in town.

“I’m not going to _tell_ you, Li,” Zayn says with a playful shove to Liam’s shoulder. “You have to listen to it.”

“Do you have it with you?” Liam asks.

Zayn chuckles, dragging his nail over a piece of cheese that’s melted onto his plate. “Not at the moment, no.”

Liam groans, making Zayn laugh a little harder because he’s so impatient. Liam gets jittery and nearly intolerable when he wants something or when he gets a little too excited. He drops his head to the table and mumbles something about Zayn being insufferable.

Zayn rubs a hand over Liam’s back and grins. “It’s only at my apartment, Liam,” he says. “We can go and grab it later on if you want.”

Liam cracks an eye open to peek at Zayn, reaching out to catch Zayn’s hand before he can take it all the way back from where he’d been rubbing Liam’s shoulder blades. He twines their fingers together, one of those soft smiles Zayn has come to realizes Liam saves special, just for him, tugging at the corner of Liam’s lips.

“You made me a mix tape,” he says softly and that look is on his face, the one that Liam gets when he’s feeling sort of sappy and sentimental.

“Yeah.”

“No one’s ever made me a mixtape before.”

Zayn shrugs, giving Liam’s hand a gentle squeeze. “I’ve never really made one for anyone before.”

And then Liam’s climbing out of his chair and stepping into Zayn’s personal space; fitting himself between his legs, hands moving to rest on Zayn’s shoulders and he’s kissing him like it’s the only way he knows how to say thank you. Zayn’s hands find Liam’s hips and the drag of their lips is practiced and rehearsed and so familiar. But it’s also new because Liam’s hands on Zayn’s shoulders feels just this side of needy and a little bit desperate; like he’s trying to say something he isn’t quite sure how to put into words.

Zayn backs of first, resting his forehead against Liam’s. His lips feel swollen and numb and wet and when he licks over them he tastes grease and cheese and bread and _Liam_ and all of it is kind of perfect.

“What is it?” He asks because he knows there are words hiding in the back of Liam’s throat. He can see it in his eyes, feel it in the way Liam’s hands are heavy where they’re resting on top of his thighs.

“You made me a mixtape,” Liam answers, his voice thick and full of an emotion Zayn has been feeling deep within his gut for the past few weeks. “I just –” Liam shrugs, ducking his head and laughing at himself because he feels like he might cry. “I love you and you made me a fucking mixtape.”

Zayn’s heart momentarily stops because that’s basically what it is. It’s not a maybe or a possibly or an “I think I might be…”

It just is.

“Yeah?” Zayn asks, and when Liam’s eyes meet his they’re a little bit wet and he nods his head.

“Yeah.”

Zayn kisses Liam again, shorter and sweeter and like he wants to whisper-sing the words to every song on that tape sitting on his coffee table into Liam’s ear.

“I love you too,” he says, and Zayn can feel the heavy drum of Liam’s heart, rushed and erratic and perfect.

♦♦♦

_Track one: I’ve Just Seen a Face – The Beatles_

_Track two: Forrest Gump – Frank Ocean_

_Track three: You Da One – Rihanna_

_Track four: Yellow - Coldplay_

_Track five: Gorilla – Bruno Mars_

_Track six: I Love you (I Always Have) – Mikky Ekko_

_A track for every week that I loved you (up until that day, at least)._

_There are more; tapes and CDs and playlists saved on my computer._

_Some that you’ve heard and others that I kept stowed away for a later date._

_They’re all songs that remind me of you and of us and of the time that we had._

_The time that we lost._

_Your mom says they found that tape – the first one – in the glove box of your car._

_She says that when you listened to it later and you cried, but you couldn’t tell her why._

_I like to think it’s because you knew. That somewhere, deep down, you remember._

_You can feel it. You can’t place it, but you feel it and you know._

_“I love you,” you’d said. “And you made me a fucking mixtape.”_

_I did._

_I loved you and I made you a mixtape._

_(I still do.)_

♦♦♦

Two years.

Zayn thinks it should be enough, that it’s something to be thankful for, and it is; he is. He thinks about the time he had with Liam and knows it was something beautiful and wonderful.

But Zayn is also selfish and wishes there had been more. He wishes there had been more than Liam’s things finding their way into his apartment until they finally called it what it was and moved Liam in. He wishes there were more nights spent naked in his bed – their bed – making love beneath the sheets, Liam’s soft breaths of air ghosting over his skin as he buried his face into Zayn’s neck while Zayn fucked into him slow and easy and languid; dragging things out because there was time.

They had time.

Zayn wishes there had been more pancakes and random copies of things that people left behind at Kinko’s that Liam found to be particularly funny and just had to bring home to Zayn. He wants more nights spent in Harry’s garage, his head resting in Liam’s lap while they sat around listening to music and passing cheap weed that Harry scored from the guy who works behind the desk at the public library.

He wants more Sunday night dinners at Liam’s mom’s house and loving the way Liam fell in love with his sisters. Zayn wants more impromptu blowjobs in the shower with Liam’s hands fisted tight into his hair, sharp pants and expletives getting lost in the steam as he fucks shallowly into Zayn’s mouth.

Zayn wants to wake up each morning and see Liam’s face; to watch his eyes flutter open, still tired and filled with sleep, and hear the soft rasp of his voice whispering “morning, love” the same way he had every day since the first time he’d tucked himself into Zayn’s bed.

There had been two years.

A crosswalk, a mixtape, a key to Zayn’s apartment, and an angry car wrapped around a lamppost.

Two years of something most people could only ever dream of having and it was his and Zayn should be grateful.

Two years, but Zayn is selfish and wishes there had been more.

♦♦♦

A few weeks after the mix tape and Zayn and Liam are in the kitchen, Zayn leaning back against the counter nursing a hot cup of tea while Liam places cookie dough onto a sheet pan as the oven heats up. He’d had a craving for chocolate chip, so they’d walked to the market to get cookie dough and milk.

(“Because you can’t have cookies without, milk, Zayn.”)

Liam turns around when the tray is pretty much filled and looks at Zayn, stepping forward and wrapping his arms around his waist and pressing a kiss to the space on his neck just below his neck.

“I love you,” he says quietly for no reason other than because he can.

Zayn smiles, places his mug on the counter behind him so he can pull Liam that much closer. “Love you, too.”

It’s quiet while they wait for the oven to beep signaling that it’s warm enough when Liam starts humming, then singing quietly, laughing “ _You da one that I dream about all day-ay-ay…”_

Zayn chuckles. “Really now?”

Liam nods, eyes closed as he sighs. “Mmmm. Always.”

“And what do you dream about?” Zayn asks, his hands sliding, slowly, up and down Liam’s back, loving the way Liam is broader and wider where he’s a bit thinner and compact.

Liam chuckles, the harsh breath of air shooting over Zayn’s throat. He cranes his neck to look up at Zayn, his expression playful. “ _You and me, baby, making love like gorillas.”_

Zayn doesn’t think Liam means for it to affect him the way it does; that he’s probably just fooling around and being silly quoting lyrics from the mixtape Zayn had given to him. But the thing is, it does. Zayn’s had thoughts of Liam naked, on his back, cock red and swollen as it lies lazily against the flat of Liam’s stomach weighing heavy on his mind for a while now.

The farthest they’ve gone is hand jobs and a lame attempt at Liam blowing Zayn but he’d rubbed Zayn down in some scented lotion while he’d been jerking him off beforehand and when he’d wrapped his lips around the head of Zayn’s cock he’d tasted like sandalwood. After that the mood was sort of ruined and they haven’t tried placing their heads below the belt since.

But God, would Zayn would give to see Liam naked and panting and wrecked, eyes blown wide and Zayn’s name dripping from his lips like honey...

“Zayn?”

Zayn blinks once, twice, tearing himself not-so-easily from his thoughts, and his voice is a little rougher than he’d like to admit when he says “Yeah?”

“You…” Liam trails off, noting the faraway look in Zayn’s eyes, the slight flush to his skin. “You were thinking about it weren’t you?”

He’s not teasing or being accusatory, Zayn knows. Liam is just asking because he wants to know. But he can’t help the heat that rushes to his cheeks and the nervous hitch to his voice as Zayn shrugs his shoulders and says “Maybe.”

“Is that why you put it on the playlist?” Liam asks. “As like a… like a hint?”

Zayn shakes his head. “No, no,” he answers. “I just uh… I put that there because it reminded me of that time in the backseat of your mom’s car…”

Liam blushes at the memory of going to kiss Zayn goodnight before he let him off outside of his apartment and getting carried away and dragging him into the backseat where Liam had basically dry-fucked him until they both came in their pants.

“Oh… well… that _was_ a good night.”

Zayn’s laugh is a little breathless and the way Zayn is looking all flushed and embarrassed and comfortable is beginning to get to Liam. It’s kind of the way Zayn had looked that night after the movies when Liam had kissed him. It’s not that Zayn was shy or hesitant, it’s just that he was so earnest. Like he didn’t want to push Liam too far and scare him away. It was as though he felt that if he were to show or tell Liam exactly what he wanted, how much he wanted, Liam would freak out and run for the hills.

But that really wasn’t the case because Liam saw Zayn and wanted so much. He wanted Zayn’s body sweaty and writhing beneath his, on top of his, around him and in him. He wanted Zayn’s fingers digging crescent shaped marks into his skin and drawing angry red lines down his back. Liam wanted it all, really, and Zayn was willing to give it up as long as Liam was there to take it.

“You want that?” Liam asks his voice a bit darker than before, his eyes a little more heady.

Liam notes the bob of Zayn’s Adam’s apple when he swallows, the way his hands slide down to his hips and grip tight. Zayn nods. “Yeah.”

“Now?”

Zayn blinks, his thumbs rubbing circles into Liam’s skin through the thin fabric of his T-shirt. “Whenever, Liam,” he answers. “But now… now would be good, too.”

There’s a bit of hesitance at first, a tentative brush of Liam’s lips against his own like he’s asking, making sure this is all okay. It’s quick to leave though when Zayn’s grip on Liam’s hips grows a little tighter; a little more sure. Liam whines into Zayn’s mouth, relishing in how strong Zayn’s fingers are pressing into his skin. Bruising.

“Living room. Couch. Bedroom,” Zayn says, panting, as he breaks apart from Liam. “Anywhere, but not in the kitchen.”

Liam laughs lightly, his lips feeling swollen and a little bit raw and Zayn’s not looking much different. He takes Zayn’s hand, leads him past the entertainment center in the living room and down the hallway to the bedroom. They don’t bother with closing the door, there’s no point since it’s just them, Liam just guiding Zayn to the bed and climbing on top of him, bracketing Zayn’s hips with his thighs.

“I think about it too, you know,” he says. “Of you. Like this.”

Zayn swallows, feels his cock heavy and confined within his jeans.

“I didn’t… I didn’t know how to tell you because we just – I don’t know, but _fuck, Zayn,_ the things I wanna do with you…”

Liam is different like this. He’s lost all inhibitions. Liam isn’t always shy smiles and hand-holding in the park, Zayn knows he’s no boy scout, but this is so much different. This is Liam raw and sort of needy. When Liam kisses him where it’s usually kind of soft and easy and languid in a slightly dirty sort of way, it’s almost sloppy lacking any real skill or finesse because right now Liam just wants.

And Zayn wants it too.

His hands are fumbling with the button and zip on Liam’s jeans while Liam works his shirt over his head. Zayn’s clothes are next and pretty soon they’re both in nothing but their briefs and Liam just feels so close. There are lips on Zayn’s neck sucking bruises just below his collarbone, and a tongue tracing the ink permanently imbedded in his skin. Zayn arches, his hands digging into the sheets as his hips grind up against Liam’s and Liam is moaning, biting down into Zayn’s skin.

“Fuck.”

He isn’t sure who says it, him or Liam, but Zayn doesn’t really care.

Zayn’s hands are pressing hard into the flesh of Liam’s ass as he continues to grind up, Liam meeting him halfway each time. Liam’s face is buried deep in his neck and Zayn’s teeth are digging into his bottom lip and he just knows if he presses down anymore he’s going to draw blood.

There’s a heat coiling deep in his belly, Zayn’s entire body feeling numb as he stills his hips and pants out “stop, stop, stop.”

Liam stills. His expression is blown and wrecked as he stares down at Zayn “What… everything okay?” He asks.

Zayn nods, exhales heavily as he struggles to catch his breath. “I was just… If that went on for any longer I was gonna come and I didn’t – not yet,” he says. “I wanted you to fuck me first.”

Liam stills, his jaw going a bit slack before he swallows, says “yeah, yeah, okay” and climbs off of Zayn to reach into his nightstand to grab a condom and a bottle of lube.

Liam’s fingers feel so much different than Zayn’s own. Where Zayn’s are long and sort of thin, Liam’s are thicker. They push in past that tight ring of muscle and it’s all so foreign and new. Zayn gasps, drawing back before settling back into the bed and gently swiveling his hips back down syncing his body with Liam’s movements.

“More,” Zayn says because it really isn’t enough. He has this urge to feel full. It’s like there’s this hole somewhere in him and Liam is slowly but surely closing it up and making Zayn whole.

A second finger stretches him further and when Zayn sits up on his elbows he can see where Liam’s head his peeking out from between his legs, his eyes trained just below the heavy weight of Zayn’s balls and his hips rutting gently against the sheets.

“ _Jesus, Zayn,_ ” Liam exhales upon seeing where Zayn is looking. “I just… fuck, you’re so pretty. I mean, look at you.”

Zayn falls back against the bed, his eyes slipping shut. It’s not because Liam’s fingers feel particularly fantastic (not that it isn’t good), there’s still that subtle burning sensation and the harsh stretch and pull of his muscles. It’s the mere fact that this is _Liam_ that’s turning Zayn on; the fact that there is a part of Liam inside of him, that Liam’s body is as close as it could possibly be.

There’s a third finger and for a brief moment, a fourth, and then Zayn is shoving Liam’s hand away and saying that he’s fine, he’s ready. “Just get in me already, yeah?” he says breathlessly, his hole clenching down around dead space. Liam looks down, sees it, and groans.

The initial stretch makes Zayn’s eyes water. It always does no matter who it is. He bites down on his lip and for a moment, Liam is worried. He’s half way there when he stills and leans forward, peppering Zayn’s face with kisses that don’t match the previous air of pure, primal need that had previously surrounded the room.

“If you –” he pauses, drops his head and exhales long and heavy as Zayn squeezes down on his cock. “I can stop if it’s too much.”

Zayn shakes his head. “No, I’m fine, keep going.”

Liam pushes the rest of the way in, bottoms out, and his jaw goes slack. He’s hovering over Zayn on shaky arms, Zayn’s legs wrapped tight around his waist. Liam has an insane urge to just fuck into Zayn over and over, relentless, until his comes but Zayn’s brows are still knitted together like it’s all a little too much so he waits.

“I’m fine,” Zayn says quietly, nodding his head as his eyes fall open. “Go ahead; I’m fine.”

It’s slow at first, tentative like that initial first kiss in the kitchen, and then Zayn is sighing at the drag of Liam’s cock, his heels digging into the small of Liam’s back as he rocks his hips in time with Liam’s push and pull. Liam sits back on his heels, his hands gripped tight at Zayn’s hips as he fucks into him. It all feels so dirty, the air smells of sex and sweat, Zayn’s soft, barely there grunts and groans as Liam’s hips smack wetly against his own. It’s nothing like what they usually are which is kind of romantic and sweet.

Zayn can tell Liam is close when his pace begins to falter, becomes a bit more erratic. He reaches down where his own cock is lying heavy and swollen against his stomach, grips it tight and tries to keep his own fist in time with Liam. It doesn’t take long before Zayn is spilling over his own chest a choked off, near silent moan tearing from his throat.

Liam jerks once, twice, his hips moving like staccato notes on sheet music as Zayn’s muscles squeeze tight around him as he comes.

And this, Zayn thinks, is why it feels so good; why it feels right. Because right now Zayn feels full, complete, with Liam lying spent inside of him. Liam’s body is a warm and welcome weight on top of his own and Zayn holds him, feels that hole he’d been feeling close up. Because Liam was it; he fit.

♦♦♦

_You fit with me._

_There had been others before (not that you liked to know, or think about it)._

_Boys from school who claimed loves and others who didn’t bother with lies._

_They were people who knew the most intimate parts of my body, the bits and pieces we hide from the world beneath layers of clothing, insecurity, and public decency._

_They were people I let in out of trust or desperation or a sad combination of the two._

_But you, you fit with me._

_As each layer, a tiny bit of the shield we all put up for the world, was removed and taken down you fell into the tiny holes and divots that I had never been able to fill up._

_You covered me and made no notice of the scars and imperfections, only breathed out something soft and heavy; speaking the word “beautiful”_

_There were others before who had smiled and spoken that same word and I’d let them in._

_They learned parts of me that most will never get an introduction to, parts that you too became familiar with even though you’ve since forgotten._

_But you, you fit with me._

_You learned not only my body, but my mind;_

_My soul._

♦♦♦

Post-traumatic anterograde amnesia.

The words always feel too heavy, even in thought. The mere idea of speaking them out loud and making them all the more real is terrifying and sad.

Post-traumatic anterograde amnesia.

Liam had been driving angry, fuming and feeling tricked and betrayed by the one person he’d thought he could trust most. He’d gotten into his car, seen that stupid mixtape lying on the passenger’s seat and shoved it into the glove box. The keys went into the ignition, the car came to life and Liam was gone.

He was speeding down a near empty street at two o’clock in the morning wanting to be anywhere except for where he was.

Driving, driving, driving.

Then he saw the dog. It was a small, scruffy little thing limping across the street and Liam was driving so fast. Too fast. So he swerved and –

Post-traumatic anterograde amnesia.

The car wrapped around a lamppost. Liam hadn’t been wearing a seatbelt.

Five broken bones and a nasty blow to the head will do it.

It was all so stupid. The whole thing was stupid and pointless because it was just a bar and a girl who didn’t mean much of anything and if Liam had only stopped and let Zayn explain –

It’s the what-ifs that will kill him.

Zayn waited in the hospital for three days for Liam to wake up and when he did that boy, the one from the crosswalk who had consumed Zayn, mind, body, and soul couldn’t even remember his name.

There’s nothing new; nothing permanent. Just a whole bunch of old memories and the ones that never last more than 24 hours.  In Liam’s mind he was twenty-two and Zayn was just another face; someone Liam’s eyes would comb over and possibly forget a few moments later.

Guaranteed to forget by the next day.

“It’s not permanent,” The doctors say. “We can’t determine a definite timeline, but the memories should return. Just give it time.”

Time.

They had two years and now it’s gone and it’s been a year and a half since then and Liam still looks at Zayn as though he were a stranger.

And maybe he is. Zayn can’t be too sure anymore.

There were days when Zayn would try and talk to him. He’d run into him at a bakery, or while Liam was on his way to the market. He’d catch Liam on his way to Harry’s and ask for directions. Zayn would smile and say things he knew would make Liam laugh.

Some days were good and Liam would like him and he would look at Zayn like there was something oddly familiar about him and Zayn would hope. But then the moment would pass and Liam would say he had to go, but it was really nice meeting him.

Some days Zayn stops, hesitates, and thinks about asking for a phone number he already has saved in his contacts but decides against it because Liam won’t remember in the morning anyways.

“Just give it time.”

And Zayn thinks that’s bullshit because they had two years and it was beautiful and real and all Zayn has left of it is a fucking story; A head full of memories he doesn’t know what to do with because there’s no one to share them with.

Zayn wants to keep them forever, just as a reminder that what they had truly did happen, but he also wants to get it out. He wants to tear it all out of his head so he doesn’t spend so much time thinking and dwelling and wishing for things he’ll probably never have.

Zayn also wants to share it. He wants to put it to paper and give it away so maybe Liam can read it and remember it too. And even if he doesn’t (but Zayn really hopes that he does) at least he’ll know it happened.

Zayn had never considered himself to be much of a writer, but out of pain and loss and longing and hope he picks up a pen and puts it to paper.

♦♦♦

Zayn is at the pub with Niall. It’s karaoke night and Niall is on stage singing “pour some sugar on me” with some girl he’d met near the toilets twenty minutes earlier. He’s not doing to poorly considering he’s had two shots of tequila and half a bottle of Heineken.

“He likes her, huh?” a voice asks from his left.

Zayn turns and she’s a blond with bright green eyes and a pretty smile. She’s leaning against the bar next to Zayn, nodding toward the stage where Niall is down on his knees singing a little off key and at the top of his lungs.

Zayn huffs a breath of laughter and shakes his head. “Yeah, I think he does,” he answers. “She your friend?”

The girl nods. “Steph? Yeah.”

Zayn takes a swig of his beer and glances down at his watch. It was pushing 10:45 and Liam was supposed to meet them at around eleven. “Niall’s my mate,” Zayn says plainly, just to make conversation. “Known him for about four years now, I think.”

She takes a seat next to him, calls the bartender over and orders a rum and coke. “I’m Jane, by the way,” she says. “In case you were wondering.”

Zayn smiles politely. “Zayn.”

She seems nice enough and conversation comes easy. Plus, he figures it will be good for Niall that his new friend’s best friend is occupied while Niall works at getting her to like him. Jane is kind of funny and she doesn’t mind when Zayn rambles on a little too long about a few of the books he liked most in college. He thinks she’d make a good friend, someone he could hang out with from time to time.

“I like you,” Jane says, her smile is a little lopsided now that she’s had a few more drinks.

“Yeah?” Zayn replies. “I think you’re pretty cool, too.”

He’s not drunk, but he’s not completely sober. When he looks at his watch it’s almost 11:30 and Liam still hasn’t shown up.

“Everything okay?” Jane asks when she notices Zayn’s worried expression.

Zayn sighs. “No… well, I don’t know. Liam was supposed to be here, like, twenty minutes ago.”

He says Liam like she knows. Like she knows who Liam is, but she doesn’t and Zayn doesn’t realize that. And it’s not her fault, really, because Jane didn’t know and perhaps maybe Zayn did give her the wrong impression. Maybe he was too nice and laughed at too many of her jokes. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to buy her that last drink.

“Well, I’m not boring you am I?” Jane asks.

“No, no,” Zayn says with a friendly smile. “He’s just usually on time, you know?”

Jane takes another sip of her drink, her eyes trained on Zayn and they’re a little hazy. Zayn can tells she feels loose and free and easy and he thinks it’s a good look on her. Under different circumstances, Zayn thinks he might even like her a little bit.

She scoots her chair in a bit closer, leans forward on her knees and says something about not needing to worry. Liam will show up eventually and why doesn’t she give Zayn something else to think about; take his mind off things.

He doesn’t have much time to react before Jane is kissing him. She tastes like dark alcohol and soda and a little bit of beer and nothing like Liam which is the one thing at the forefront of Zayn’s mind.

Zayn pushes her back, their lips parting with a crude smack and Jane’s eyes are blown wide as she runs a hand through her hair.

“What –”

But it’s too late because when Zayn’s eyes scan the pub they find Liam standing a few yards away near the door. His expression is something Zayn has never seen before: a cross between angry and disgusted and sad. It’s not the bright smile Zayn is usually greeted with when he first sees him or the fond exasperation that usually comes when Liam realizes that Zayn is a little bit drunk. This is different.

“Fuck.” It’s mumbled under his breath as Zayn pushes himself away from the bar, not even bothering with a goodbye to Jane as he crosses the floor to meet up with Liam.

He’s not having it though. Liam has seen enough really and he can’t stand to look at Zayn for another second.

“Liam!”

When Liam turns around he’s looking at Zayn with complete and total disdain. “What?”

Zayn knew Liam had a temper. He’s a passionate person and he feels things on such a deep level. Where Zayn lets things sit and fester, bubble up inside of him until he can’t help but to feel everything at once, Liam explodes and lets everything out on the spot. He yells and he screams and doesn’t bother with explanations, saying things he may not always mean.

“That wasn’t – that wasn’t what you think it was,” Zayn says.

Liam rolls his eyes. “You were kissing her, Zayn. I saw you.”

“I hardly even _know_ her.”

“And that makes it better?” Liam asks incredulously. “I catch you in there kissing some girl and the fact that you hardly know her makes it okay?”

People are beginning to stare, Zayn can see it and feel it all around them. He wants to take Liam by the hand and explain everything, but his mind still feels a little hazy and he isn’t thinking straight because Liam is so angry and Zayn is scared.

“I—I pushed her away, Liam. She… I must have given her the wrong idea or—I don’t know, okay? But it’s not like I…”

“Doesn’t matter, Zayn. You were in there and you were laughing with her and being friendly and you kissed her. That’s all there is to it.”

“You really think I would do that?” Zayn asks because now Liam is being ridiculous. “Do you honestly believe I would do that to you?”

Zayn can understand being angry and getting the wrong idea, but there has to be some level of trust. Liam has to believe that Zayn wouldn’t ever do anything to intentionally hurt him.

Liam shrugs. “No,” he says. “I didn’t; not before tonight.”

Zayn presses the heels of his hands into his eyes, sighing out in frustration. It’s cold and he’d left his jacket on the back of his chair. Everything is too much and he doesn’t want to deal with this right now. He doesn’t want to deal with Liam while he’s being irrational and angry, when he can’t stop and just fucking listen to what Zayn has to say.

“I can’t… I can’t deal with this right now,” Zayn says. “You aren’t – you’re angry and you clearly aren’t listening to a thing I have to say.”

“ _You_ can’t deal with this right now?” Liam asks.

Zayn shakes his head, growing more and more irritated by the second. “No, Liam, I fucking can’t. I get that you’re angry but you aren’t even listening to me. You just need to cool down, okay? If you can cool down and listen then we can work this shit out, but I can’t deal with you yelling and screaming like an asshole in the middle of the goddamn sidewalk.”

There’s an angry pause in the conversation and Liam’s expression goes steely and unreadable. Zayn hardly even recognizes him. “Fuck you, Zayn,” Liam says, turning on his heel and walking toward his car.

Zayn doesn’t even try to stop him.

♦♦♦

_Some days I’ll try to laugh._

_I’ll sit and I’ll see something that reminds me of you and I’ll laugh._

_I’ll laugh because it’s so much easier than crying._

_Being sad all the time is hard work._

_It drains you. It drains you because you have to focus on being sad._

_It’s not a default emotion so much as it is something perpetual and haunting that you focus on because it’s the only thing you seem to know how to feel._

_Because the easiness and the fluidity of being happy makes you feel guilty._

_So I laugh. I laugh because I miss you and it almost makes me feel as though you were here. I laugh because you are here and you’re also not._

_It’s the you that you were before me and I don’t really know that person either._

_It’s ironic and it’s funny._

_So I laugh._

_It’s not really though; none of it is. It’s forced and it’s phony and I’m nothing but a liar._

_And for that, I am sorry._

_I’m sorry that I kissed her and I let you go. I’m sorry for giving up so easily._

_I’m sorry for not understanding that you that you’d found something special in me and felt as though it were slipping right through your fingers._

_I should have picked up on that feeling, should have recognized it right away, because I know it so well._

_I feel it every day._

_I feel that and so many other things: loss, gratitude, hope, love._

_Other days I don’t know what I’m feeling, but I know I feel you._

_You are constant and you are there. You’re always there._

_And I hope that this finds you and that it finds you well._

_And I hope that you remember how I loved you and how much I still do._

♦♦♦

Zayn is waiting at the crosswalk for the light to flash green, for the little man to appear on the screen across for him to appear and tell him it was okay, “you can walk.”

Zayn is just standing there, waiting, when he sees him. He’s walking fast and looking at his phone typing out a message to someone on the other end and he doesn’t look like he’s about to stop. As if on instinct, Zayn reaches out, grabs the boy’s wrist and pulls him back from the curb.

“Hey,” he says. “Watch out there, you’re going to get yourself killed, mate.”

And then he looks up and it’s as though three and a half years hadn’t passed them by. It’s like the very first day when Zayn was all nerves and jumbled thoughts he didn’t quite know how to process. Only this time Zayn sort of knows, he knows this is _Liam_ , but it also Liam a year before that first time and Zayn is probably just a kind stranger.

“Oh.” His cheeks flush red as Liam looks out toward the traffic, then back to Zayn with a nervous, embarrassed smile. “Wow um, I—thanks.”

Liam looks down to where Zayn is still holding onto his wrist. Zayn can feel his pulse, the familiarity of Liam’s skin beneath his fingertips and he doesn’t want to let go.

But he has to. So he does.

“I—sorry.”

When Liam’s eyes meet his there’s a quick flash of recognition, like he can sense something familiar, and Liam is looking at Zayn as though he knows him.

“ _This is the boy who saved me._ ”

It’s spoken softly. So much so that Zayn hardly knows him, but he recognizes the words. After all, he’d written them; they’d left his pen.

“What?”

Liam shakes his head, drags his fingers over his wrist where Zayn had once been holding it. Across the street the light flashes green, but neither of them make a move to leave.

“I just… I feel –” Liam looks up and his eyes are scared and hopeful and it’s like he _knows_ but he can’t form the memories; place the faces with names and places and locations. “I feel like I know you; like you know me.”

There’s this ache in Zayn’s chest. It’s the same one that’s always been there only now it’s stronger because Liam is here and Zayn can almost feel that very same ache in his chest as well. It’s love and it’s a longing for something that is so unattainably there.

“It’s you isn’t it?” Liam asks. “That story, the one I found in the mailbox? That was you.”

Zayn nods. “Yeah.”

Liam bites down on his bottom lip, shudders out a sigh and drags his palms down over his face. “I’m just… I feel so confused and I’m scared.” He looks up and Zayn can see it: the fear and confusion creeping back in. “I don’t – I don’t know you, but I feel like I do. I feel so much for you and I don’t even know you and I know that… it’s scary because I know I won’t remember any of this tomorrow either.”

It’s overwhelming, Zayn can tell, but Liam pushes all the fear and confusion to the side and when he smiles it’s something soft and sad; something almost kin to that expression he used to wear just for Zayn. He reaches out, places a tentative palm to Zayn’s cheek; soft skin a stark contrast to rough stubble.

“I… I see you, you know,” he says. “Sometimes, when I’m asleep I dream of you but when I wake up I don’t remember. You’re like a phantom or something; always there in the back of my mind, but I can never place you.”

Zayn squeezes his eyes shut. Everything feels so tight and close but simultaneously spread out and far away. Everything is a contradiction with Liam seeing and remembering things he’s long since forgotten. Zayn chokes on a sob, feels his eyes fill with water behind his lids and he doesn’t want to cry.

When he opens them Liam’s hand is gone and Zayn’s vision is blurry, his eyes are glassy and Liam looks like watercolor. He’s as pretty as he’s ever been and even then, when he’s right there in front of him, Zayn misses him so much.

“I… I’m sorry,” Liam says. “For before? For forgetting.”

Zayn shakes his head. “Not your fault.”

There’s a breath of quiet and then Liam is taking Zayn’s hand in his own. “Tell me about it; about us.”

Zayn’s head jerks up, the rush and buzz of traffic becoming nothing but static background noise. “Huh?”

Liam gestures across the street toward a small café. He’s still a little hesitant and scared, Zayn can tell, but he’s trying. “I know I won’t remember it tomorrow, but I want to know you,” he says. “At least for today.”

Zayn nods, smiles and gives Liam’s hand a gentle squeeze. Says “Yeah, okay.”

Because even if Liam doesn’t remember tomorrow, he’ll remember today.

And maybe one day he’ll remember it all. Just give it time.

But until then, they have now. They have today.

♦♦♦

_And when you remember (and I know you will) I hope you find me because I’ll be waiting._

_One o’clock, two o’clock, three o’clock, four._

_I’d wait forever._


End file.
